He dropped down upon an old stump, and his nervous feet beat a tattoo upon the sandy soil.
“I never knowed womans wus so crazy about deir chillun befo’,” he exclaimed. “My mammy done los’ me out in de woods an’ Marse John Flournoy foun’ me in de swamp when I wus ’bout two year ole. He tole me I wus plum’ naked, jes’ crawlin’ aroun’ in de high marsh grass like a little lan’ tarrapin. Dat don’t look like nigger mammies loved deir brats. But den, dey done foun’ my mammy daid in anodder part of de swamp. But dese here moderm niggers—lawd, dey shore cherish spite!”
Suddenly a new thought galvanized him into action.
“Dat’s de idear!” he proclaimed, springing to the middle of the street and running at full speed. “I’ll ride out to de hog-camp in de Little Moccasin Swamp an’ make Whiffle Bone let me fotch back little Shinny to his real paw. Den I’ll get Shin Bone to swap brats wid me, an’ dat’ll make us even an’ end all dese troubles.”
He ran through the crooked lanes of Dirty-Six like a brown shadow, passed with unchecked speed through the portion of Tickfall occupied by the whites, and began to pant up the long hill on the summit of which stood the house of Sheriff John Flournoy.
Skeeter was perfectly at home here, for he lived in a cabin in the rear of Flournoy’s house, and had done just as he pleased about the place ever since Flournoy had found him in the swamp, a little naked baby crawling through the high marsh grass, mewing like a little blind kitten. He hurried around the house to the garage and opened the doors as noiselessly as he could. He had determined to use a little runabout which Flournoy kept for his fishing and hunting trips. In this machine he could go to the hog-camp, get Whiffle Bone’s baby, and return in a very short time.
He pushed the little runabout out of the garage, pushed it down the hill in the rear of the house, cranked it, sprang into the seat, and drove through a back pasture, out of a gate, and onto the rear street. He took one fearful look behind him and saw with gratification that no light had flashed up in Flournoy’s house to show that the occupants had been disturbed by his intrusion upon the property.
Skeeter shot through the white portion of the town, and turned into the lanes of Dirty-Six at a perilous speed. His dilapidated machine was rattling and squeaking a loud protest at every turn, but Skeeter did not heed the warning.
Then as Skeeter passed Pap Curtain’s house, a tire burst with a loud explosion, the runabout careened perilously, and before Skeeter could stop, it leaped from the road, crashed through Pap Curtain’s fence, and came to a halt within a few steps of Pap’s porch.
In the silence which followed, Skeeter heard a woman in Pap’s cabin whooping like a siren in a fog.